


Enthralled

by Schizanthus



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, TGSSecretSanta2k18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schizanthus/pseuds/Schizanthus
Summary: The vampire AU interpretation of "The Other Side" that you all knew was coming.





	Enthralled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celestial_ringleader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_ringleader/gifts).



> This is a Secret Santa fic for [nerdy_snowflake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_snowflake/pseuds/nerdy_snowflake), who asked for Barlyle with no death or unresolved angst. I hear they like vampires. 👀 
> 
> Many MANY thanks to [SilverLynxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx) and [TheMissingMask](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingMask/pseuds/TheMissingMask) for responding to my last-minute yorping for beta assistance -- your candid scrutiny helped kick this thing into shape. As always, [Smolbeep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smolbeep), thank you for your encouragement, patience, and keeping me from torching everything in frustration.

Although this evening was far from the first time Phillip Carlyle had beseeched the heavens, unknown greater powers, or _anybody_ , really, to put him out of his misery, it was the first time that he actually received a response. Hardly noticeable over the muted conversation and clinking of glasses, both sounds already well on their way to becoming indifferentiable to his champagne-dulled senses, something whispered back, _"Not yet."_ He could feel a gaze on him like a palpable weight, and thought he saw a presence moving just out of the corner of his eye.

It was enough to startle him into a brief moment of lucidity. Placing his eighth and final flute down on a nearby table, he turned quickly in hopes of catching a glimpse of his mysterious companion, only to nearly lose his balance as his head continued spinning long after the rest of him had stopped. The other party guests pointedly avoided looking in his direction, though he was certain they would be dissecting his every ignominious action in minute detail the moment he was out of their sight.

 _"Best remain upright until you get home."_ An amused chuckle seemed to sound in his mind, and he found himself walking towards the foyer as surely as if he was being guided by an invisible hand at his back, without ever having come to the decision to leave. Still, the lure of a warm bed and quiet repose was compelling, whether the idea was his own or that of the whisper that graciously accompanied him home.

\--

By the time Philip had gotten into bed, he was exhausted but unusually clearheaded. To be in such a state after having spent the last few hours assiduously working to avoid that very affliction seemed like just one more failure to end the day on. A familiar sinking sensation came with it, of not knowing what to do anymore or even what he wanted, but recognizing that it certainly wasn't this. It was accompanied by the piping up of that quiet voice, asking for everything to end somehow, at any cost, perhaps forever.

This time, though, it was answered by the interloper, with so much more conviction than he could ever have mustered -- _"Forever is a long time."_ Overtaken with the urge to go look outside, he opened the double windows in his bedroom and stepped out onto the balcony. The townhouse was on a quiet street, deserted by this hour. He looked down the street to his left and saw nothing, then looked to the right and saw likewise, nothing. No, wait, something. Something just barely visible in the gloom, standing outside the pool of yellowish light cast by the flickering gas lamp.

It was a tall figure, preternaturally still in the evening shadows. All the light near it seemed to fade, absorbed into a velvety dark miasma that swirled and eddied around it, never to be cast back. Phillip could barely make out its shape, wreathed in those wisps of darkness. He knew it was watching him. That same gaze, persistent, predatory, and... curious? A late night cab clattered down the road, drawing his attention away. After it had passed, he looked to the lamppost again, but the figure was no longer there.

He shook his head to clear the tendrils of anesthetizing fog that had somehow started to creep in as he had stared into that curious darkness, closed the windows and returned to bed. The rest of the night passed in fitful slumber, never progressing beyond a light doze, continuously beset by unspecified dread and nightmares.

\--

Phillip went through the next several days rather inattentively, nursing a prolonged headache that was more attributable to lack of sleep than excess of beverages consumed. He was tired and haunted by the same gaze whenever he so much as drowsed. He could see it clearly now, in his mind's eye, though he had never actually witnessed it outside of his dreams. The eyes were a striking shade -- amber, almost, and saw everything. He could never make out the rest of the face, but their owner drifted through his head day after day, observant and inquisitive but never outright obtrusive. It was a strangely welcome presence where there had once been only gnawing emptiness.

Perhaps a week after the first sighting, he was drawn again to the window, as surely as if someone had beckoned. Maybe someone had. The caress of a honeyed voice echoed in his head, familiar by now and comforting in its surety.

_“I’ve watched men subjugating, enslaving, and subduing their fellow men for longer than I can remember. Why do you think I came to your city? Suffering of this magnitude always draws us. That room was full of the living dead, so easy to fit in. I knew of the battles being waged on the fields and in the courts, but finding it in the middle of a ballroom populated by those who would do the afflicting was unexpected. Seeing them turning upon their own without a flicker of hesitation.”_

As it spoke, images went flashing by, seen through the other’s eyes. The eras changed, but the scenes didn’t -- whether it was with fists or clubs or whips or contracts, humanity clashed and destroyed itself with furious and indifferent regularity. Emotions that were not his own accompanied them, of sorrow, anger, and a vast empathy that he never would have attributed to such a creature.

 _"Come away,"_ it now said. _"You don't want to be there. It's killing you, more surely than the poison in your flask.”_

The tumult of visions faded, to be replaced by a singular image -- a large, lofty space, lit with a million glowing points of light. Then came a heartbreaking surge of something -- an amalgam of safety and joy and… affection?

Phillip saw that he -- for it was definitely a _he_ \-- was standing at the foot of the steps leading to the front door, looking up as if questioning his reluctance. The wisps of shadow cleared enough that he could discern a face, and it was not at all the thing of nightmares that stories described. It was handsome, with the etched traces of frequent laughter and sparkling golden eyes.

He wanted to jump, was positively overcome with the compulsion to just leap over the railing without a single notion of what would happen after. He balked, suddenly realizing he had already taken a few steps back to do exactly that, somehow believing he would be caught and spirited away. With a shudder as his better judgement took over, Phillip backed away from the window, still wavering. Giving one final glance, imbued with mixture of both horror and longing, he shut the window and forced himself to walk away.

\--

By the end of the month, Phillip paced through the days in a stupor. The voice continued to lick at the inside of his mind whenever misgivings flared, coercing, enticing. It felt like it would envelop him entirely if he would just accept it and let go of his desperate hold on this existence. He wouldn't let go. Yet it determinedly picked away at his defenses until he was unable to even think straight.

_“I've always been the agent of freedom, abhor forced helotry. You are a thrall as surely as any those poor unfortunates who serve my less scrupulous brethren. But you don't need to be. You fight it already, trailing chains behind you with every step. Let me set you free.”_

Without meaning to, Phillip bolted upright from the desk he had been sitting at, letting out a emphatic "NO!" Much to his surprise, the voice withdrew and he was left in silence. The hollow despair flooded back with a vengeance and he reeled, only then comprehending just how much the voice had dampened and staved off his own host of inner demons.

When night fell, he was back at the balcony, looking out expectantly. He needed to see, even as he continued to resist. But this time, there was nobody there. It was a normal street on a normal night, dry winter branches rustling in the wind, the smell of snow on the air. It was what he had asked for. He was oddly and intensely disappointed. There would be no fight, no force, it was to be purely of his own volition. Anything he decided now would be done unfettered and unclouded by outside influence. It valued free will above all.

He turned away and started to close the windows again. Then, almost without realizing what he was doing, he let go of the handles and backed away, leaving them open just a crack. A tacit invitation, an acknowledgement. The cold breeze blew in, but he didn't feel it anymore.

\--

He was standing in the street outside of the tent -- could a structure so large still be called a tent? The show was done and it was dark outside, though small gleams of light occasionally shone through the cracks when the fabric was buffeted by a particularly strong gust of wind. He paused to take it all in. It was different, but that no longer scared him.

He'd awoken to a hand running lightly through his hair, brushing his cheek. It felt like he was still asleep. All fear and instinct that would normally urge him to flee, to doubt, had been muted, and he saw with a new clarity. And he wanted it, welcomed it, needed it in a way he had never dared to consider before. When their lips finally met, he knew there was no turning back. Call it infatuation or devilry, but it was the first time something felt unequivocally right. Something in his heart slotted into place and nothing ached anymore.

_"I do answer the calls of those who no longer want to live, it's true. I like to fool myself into thinking that I provide some measure of relief. But what I saw in you wasn't a longing for death -- though you were finding your way there easily enough without aid. I saw the opposite, a plea to finally, truly live. As chance would have it, I happen to be one of the few beings in this city that can offer both of those things."_

_“Yes.”_

He straightened his coat, squared his shoulders, and strode forward with purpose. Taking hold of the flap and one last deep breath, he ducked under and entered the circus.


End file.
